Warning: Blood, Animal testing/Cruelty

Chapter 14- Addenda

"Things to be added."

December 25, 1894, Tuesday

First, catch your hare.

He had thought her annoyed with his enthusiasm for the holidays, knocking excitedly on her bedroom door. She had merely opened it, fastening the buttons of her shirt and spoke coyly before shutting it once more. But her words lifted his spirits and he made his way downstairs to the mud room beyond the kitchen.

Early on, they had discovered the constant of their childhood; rabbit pie. The occasion was variable; birthdays and compromise for her, illness and departing the summer home for him, but regardless, Mother and Father knew how to keep them replete. Already, he anticipated the aroma of the meal filling the house despite the very strong scent of urine that washed over him from their rabbit hutches. Primarily, their rabbits were for testing. They needed to test biologicals for the Contraption and the infusions, but at the very least, they kept some stock unmarred for control and for consumption.

Robert went to the hutch of unblemished rabbits, peering at first at the group. The poor chaps. Who was to be the lucky one? Unlucky one? Did he choose the same buck in each universe? Or a different one in each? Surely there was one where they did not have pie on Christmas day at all. Deciding between brothers, he thought of Rosalind. Was she random in her decision to connect with him? Did she open up to tears of Roberts less promising than he?

Before he fell into regression, he sought to choose one randomly, the one farthest. The animal was warm and did not struggle, the weight of it like an infant, and he thought instantly of the Girl that had been gingerly placed in his arms. He recalled the smell of alcohol on Dewitt's breath and the musty rags the child was wrapped in; his first new memories when he had finally stitched himself together—

"—Robert?" Rosalind called from the kitchen, returning his mind to the present. She was beginning to set up pot and pans.

"Have you made your selection yet?" she asked when he had come back in. He presented her his catch, scratching between its ears.

Robert placed the rabbit on the kitchen island, so that he might continue his slice of toast he had left. He pursed his lips unseriously at her casual attire before taking a bite. "You're dressed for the occasion." She had been so particular about presentation this morning.

"As are you," she shot back at his suspenders and slapdash sleeves, and snatched the remaining half of his toast. "Happy Christmas." She smiled before taking a bite.

His lips formed a wry smile. "Happy Christmas." He watched her wipe at the crumbs on her mouth. "So, gifts now or later?"

"How about work now, gifts later?," she compromised. "That way we have uninterrupted sessions of both."

"Sounds like a plan."

"But first, let's begin the pie." Rosalind corralled the buck on the counter, drawing it near to her. She examined him for good measure, checking its paws and teeth before she too gave it an affectionate scratch between its ears. He imagined her as her young self, perhaps spending time in the meadow during summertime, observing animals and insects.

"Is he to your liking?"

She glanced up at him, her smile returning. "Quite. Now," she said in the same breath, "If you please, be sure to catch all the blood."

Before he could grab the bowl and prevent the light crimson mist, she had drawn the knife swiftly under the animal's neck.

Her mouth thinned at his miss, but her face remained impassive throughout the entire culling.

"Good. Set it aside for now. We may yet have use for it later with the infusions."

Robert placed the bowl aside, watching as she continued. The process of her making the pie was one he was never witness too. It had always been presented to him cooked, delicious. How many animals had she gutted in her youth? How many since his crossing? Her hands grew more rubicund. He could not tear his eyes from them.

There was method to her gutting. More dissection than evisceration. More analysis than haruspicy.

"Won't you be a darling and check the mail, dear brother?" she said without looking up from her work. She placed organs in a bowl, meat in another.

He would rather continue watching her, but his spell had been broken. "Of course."

Before they had an assistant, there were days often they'd forget the mail. Even still, on weekends or holidays, when Gwen was off, a pile of telegrams and letters and invoices would await in the foyer. He didn't expect much of a stack awaiting this morning but when he reached the door, there were three packages and a couple letters.

Robert grinned.

These were sure to be more festive than the usual telegram of reactor status. He gathered them, determining their senders and information. He placed the packages on the table at the foot of the stairs for later. There was a daily telegram of the buoy relay, an invoice from Harper's, and a fine envelope addressed to him. He flipped it over.

A bold 'F' letterhead acted as a seal. Perhaps he should open this in Rosalind's presence.

She was as he left her, deep into her work.

"There's a letter addressed to me."

"Oh?"

"From Fink."

She paused.

"Open it."

He was careful to preserve the integrity of the envelope, sliding out a thick invitation. Please join me for drinks. - J.

It was scrawled in that neat hand of his. Rosalind considered a moment more before continuing with the pastry.

On the back were the details. January 13th, Good Time Club, 2pm.

"I assume I shall be in attendance?"

"Spare us the pleasure."

"And miss the gossip?" he joked.

"Robert, be very careful with Fink."

He glanced at her. Her usual annoyance of the man was drilled into him from the beginning but he did not see the harm in an afternoon. Surely she would if he convinced her? He was not a child after all, nor feeble-minded, nor ill. The situation was advantageous.

"Perhaps I can get close to him. Socially, as a gentleman." He would do the dirty work for her if she would but let him.

"I'll not have you as a manservant to act on my behalf. We must take extreme caution in all matters with that man."

"We'll not come across this opportunity often."

She arched an eyebrow. "Do you not think I, too, have accepted requests for lunch and taken the air with him?"

"Forgive me. I only mean to protect-"

"—Protect?"

Robert clenched his jaw, aware of his error, aware of her position.

"You mistake me. I'm concerned of his interest in you," he said honestly. "There is an intrigue in his dark eyes. You are like nothing he has ever seen; a great woman of power, of intelligence. Of cruelty," At this he stole a glance at her hands still ruddy in spots. "You embody all that threatens him."

Rosalind studied him and he felt that same clinical analysis, that visual vivisection that stripped him of everything. He could not bear its intensity. He returned his attention to the invitation, reassessing its value. He would never understand truly Fink's threat until he witnessed it first hand. A hypothesis had to be observed, tested.

"Robert."

He met her eyes. It was her tone that took his notice, full of concern and something close to fear.

"What if it is you that intrigues him?"

He frowned. "How do you mean?"

Rosalind shook her head. "Let's not waste another breath on Fink this morning."

"Very well." He knew better than to press the matter, and he rolled his sleeves up to help her with their meal.

Perhaps in one universe, they were alchemists. Science had evolved alternately, had branched into something that resembled mythology and witchcraft. Perhaps Rosalind had made tangible the Elixir of Life, unlocked the secrets of dimensional transmutation. Perhaps they'd already have solved this experiment of infusions in ordinary fashion, that is to say, much quicker and adept than their luck in this universe has been.

While the last two days had been productive, they had not produced anything viable. They had lost two rabbits. Their goal, ultimately, was to create an infusion that restored health, revitalized, and rejuvenated. Rosalind had initially started the project early on when Comstock had begun to show signs of premature aging. It was startling, really, how fast the man wrinkled and grayed, almost as if the Contraption demanded some mortal toll. There was more research to be done why he and Rosalind had not shown any effects despite their constant exposure. If anything, developing a solution to prevent it in them was all the more reason to do so.

The results so far had been less than encouraging. Yesterday, a rabbit had bled so profusely, he was certain it had expelled its entire volume. It had frightened him if only as a reminder of his own spells. Rosalind called an early night; he was grateful.

He had hoped the promise of the holidays would drive him to better results this afternoon, but he found himself frustrated. He was set to distill the valerian root but the process had only yielded a minuscule amount of essence before becoming extremely viscous and unusable. After checking his calculations and restarting the distillation, he had watched the second batch run bad in the alembic.

Robert removed the cap and went to the sink to dispense with the liquid again, sighing. He set his arms on the edge of the sink and leaned, looking out the window. What had gone wrong? They had made adjustments for altitude. Perhaps they had drifted? Making his way to the great room, he strode past Rosalind to the set of meters that sat upon the desk. Everything appeared right.

Resigned, he made the few steps back to the kitchen and leaned on the door post, watching Rosalind. She was always so concentrated, always much more adept than he was.

"Again?" she said, without looking up, continuing with her formula calculations in a notebook.

He hummed his affirmative.

"You've accounted for altitude? For copper instead of glass?"

"Yes, subtract five minutes from boil, increase temperature by three. I've rechecked it twice." He did not want her to believe he was distracted by the holidays, by the pie baking, by the gifts down the hall, or indeed, that he did not care for them so much as he was looking forward to giving her his gifts.

"And the valerian?"

"Of course. Absolute temperature at eighty seven degrees farenheit."

Her writing paused. "You're certain?"

"How could I forget? The day I learned it was the day Mother and Father dismissed my governess. They were most pleased I had surpassed my need for one."

She hummed her agreement. "Mother and Father saw it quite differently for their daughter, dismissing that blasted woman for encouraging her in science."

Robert opened his mouth to apologize, but she waved a hand. Her mood was always much more pleasant when she was thoroughly engrossed in work, even if it wasn't going her way; he was envious of her ability.

"And you?" he asked. "Any luck?"

She smiled coyly, closing the notebook and turning to face him fully. "Oh no. Just years of experience."

"Watch your cheek, I've studied too," he told her and could not stop his smile from breaking his feigned offense.

Rosalind stood, crossing her arms. "Well, color me reassured. I was afraid we'd finally discovered our difference."

Even as he stood taller than her, she still matched his height by sheer will.

"And? Do you find me lacking?" Despite the intensity of her scrutiny, he was also so eager to put himself back under it.

Her eyes assessed him quickly. "Hardly. And I've no doubt of your memory, dear brother, but in this universe," she adjusted the dial a sliver. "Valerian distills at eighty-five."

"Eighty five?" He thought on it, struggled to find the dissonance, and found none. Frequently when there were conflicting memories that were minor; a choice of bread or type of cheese, he experienced slight confusion, as if he'd retained his memories but decided to go against them. A major dissonance of course became a spell. But this memory, this milestone, remained unblemished. "You're certain?"

"I've no reason not to be."

"And I the same."

Rosalind pursed her lips. "Interesting that such a strong memory remains." She fell into deep thought a moment. "Regardless, we do still have viable amounts of valerian oil for testing. Shall we?"

They set about preparing their ingredients for mixing. This was more trial and error than labor and reward, the risk for failure higher and more certain than success. But they knew a thing or two about failed experiments. Where would they be, indeed, where would he be if they had not repeated tests, adjusted parameters, rebuilt prototypes? It was laborious, tedious at times, but necessary to find and eliminate the errors so that the final product might be a paradigm of principle and excellence.

"The addition of feverfew yesterday produced unfavorable and ultimately retroactive results," she recorded aloud. "We will not pursue any further research at this time."

Across the counter, she glanced at him, perhaps to reassure him that such a bloody incident would not occur in their home again.

"Right then," she began, rolling up her sleeves.

In lieu of dittany, which would not arrive for a few weeks, they had decided to use valerian as a base today. As it was her hypothesis, it was only fitting She be the one to finalize the compound. They had spent time earlier going through old texts. Somehow she had procured an edition of 17th Century botanist John Gerard's Herball. He was not quite sure when or even how she had gotten it and he was sure he would not like the answer.

Rosalind started a low simmer. Her careful attention was something that always drew his admiration. "Begin at 100 degrees," she dictated, and he recorded the data. She moved effortlessly as she navigated the instruments, adjusting dials and stirring flasks. It was as he observed her at the piano, hands a fluid but calculated grace. When she had finished, she removed the flask from the burner and swished it gently, while Robert prepared a small vial of the blood they had collected earlier.

The first step in determining whether they were on the right track was direct contact with blood. If there were no immediate effects, they would move on to the next phase of testing. Some of their earlier formulas had not progressed further from this stage. Blood had curdled, congealed, turned solid, or likewise, boiled, blackened, and separated. His gut turned when he imagined what would have happened if they had tested them on a live animal.

They introduced a few drops into the vial and he held his breath. Thankfully, the blood did not turn or take on some dramatic change. Rosalind exchanged a look with him. He nodded. They would move on to a rabbit now.

He returned to the mud room again and selected one, this time no longer musing about this selection. Rosalind performed her thorough inspection again and when she had determined it an acceptable subject, she set about making a calculated incision on its hind leg. The buck nipped at her hand in retaliation, but she merely accepted the pain and continued with the test.

With a pair of tongs, Robert prepared a swab of gauze he doused with the compound and applied it to the wound.

The act of waiting was tedious, Rosalind often said, though she frowned when he had suggested she was impatient. In this moment, as they waited for any accelerated or exaggerated events, there existed an intensity in her gaze.

"There," she whispered. He looked closer at the split flesh and sure enough, the bleeding receded and in the span of a breath the wound closed.

Robert grinned. He made to share his celebration with her, but she remained fixed on the animal, her brow furrowing. "Watch closer, Robert."

He looked back at the rabbit, only to find that the wound that had healed so miraculously was suddenly festering, forming a keloid that swelled at an alarming rate. In the span of another breath it had doubled, each fleshy cyst multiplying and growing. Quickly, the growth had spread over the entirety of the animal's haunches. He could not look away from the wellspring of tumors. He hastily calculated the rate of the growth while Rosalind hastened to the sink.

As he turned to relay her his numbers, she had procured a knife and thrust it into the rabbit's chest. She must have missed the tiny heart because it continued to writhe. She made to draw it out for another thrust but tumors sprung from the new wound faster than before, swallowing the blade.

Robert tensed and pulled her back from the counter. Together they watched in silence as the swelling, tumorous flesh overtook the animal's body. The growth spread to the animal's face, suffocating it, and it finally stopped.

He released his breath.

Rosalind tugged at her hand, and he realized he had been holding it. She walked around the island to examine the remains.

"That's unfortunate." From the fireplace, she picked up a stoke and prodded it curiously. "Fascinating. It seems to affect only living tissue."

Seeing her so close and so curious worried him. It was such a startling reaction.

She stood up, her face optimistic. "By far, it's yielded the best results. Notebook, please."

He grimaced and handed it to her. "From your perspective."

"The issue is control," she said, flipping through pages. "Valerian is very sensitive to heat. Perhaps us distilling at eighty-seven degrees altered the formula? Or might the results be the same regardless of the purity of the essence?"

"Well," he started, thinking on it. Her point was valid. "It is promising. If we can control the reaction."

She gave him a smile that was both approval of his agreement and that irresistible spark of challenge she had when given an impossible task. In this moment she was both charming and maddening.

"We are still waiting for the dittany to arrive, mind you, and I have a feeling that might be the final piece. Until then," she sighed and rolled up her sleeves once more to clear up the rabbit remains. "We endeavor."

He set about helping her again, though he was insistent they did not touch it with their bare hands. They managed to roll it onto a decent amount of burlap that they had outside and prepared a fire to incinerate it in their small brick patio. Despite the warmth it generated, he did not step near it, lest they inhale any remaining particles. At first the remains had proven difficult to burn even with kindling, but it finally caught and he stared into the flames as it charred. His belly rumbled, reminding him he had not eaten properly, that not ten steps away there roasted a different rabbit.

"I think that should suffice," Rosalind said after a few minutes. She glanced at him for his opinion. "You needn't look askance. Chin up, dearest, we've got presents."